


Love, Come Find Us.

by tricktactoe



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Open Marriage, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 06:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricktactoe/pseuds/tricktactoe
Summary: Timothée had been able to imagine many things about returning to this villa, but he hadn’t quite been able to imagine it like this.Empty. Desolate. Or even worse. Like nothing had ever happened here. Like the whole shoot had been a dream.





	Love, Come Find Us.

**Author's Note:**

> My sister gave me the prompt: 'They got back to the villa where they shot the movie'. I brought it to a very angsty place.
> 
> All of this is fiction.

Timothée pushed the door open slowly and peeked inside the villa. He didn’t know what to expect, returning to the scene of the crime a year and a half later. He was nervous.

A gust of wind at his back made him shiver and hurry inside. Closing the door gently behind him, his footsteps and the creak of the door echoed across the barren room.

It was like a tomb.

Timothée had been able to imagine many things about returning to this place, where so many memories and feelings were cemented. But he hadn’t quite been able to imagine it like this.

Empty. Desolate. Or even worse. Like nothing had ever happened here. Like the whole shoot had been a dream.

Another gust of wind brought him out of his thoughts. He shook himself. He was being melodramatic. He walked on.

He let his feet guide him through the house he had almost called home for one Italian summer. His body knew this place. Knew where the light hit in the living room floor just so, knew the echoes of the hallway as people ran through it, knew that he could close his eyes and find his way to the kitchen blind. The scent of cooking had always lead him there unconsciously, during the days where lunch breaks were long, the wait for better weather tedious, but enjoyable.

All these memories were starker now, rougher. Where the echoes of feet on marble flooring would have been playful, happy before, they were now somber and harsh. Like accidentally hitting a discordant note on the piano, cringing almost before the sound makes it to your ears.

Being back felt like that. It felt wrong. Where sunlight reached everywhere in summertime, there was now a thick layer of dust. How many things must time steal from us. Timothée felt a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought.

It wasn’t all bad, he reassured himself. Last night at dinner, after Armie had devoured a few hundred servings of pasta, and he himself enough wine to feel free, invincible and not yet melancholy, Luca had let them in on the secret. Like asking them to participate in a conspiracy, he had gathered everyone in his sitting room after dinner. People had been spread out all over the sofas and armchairs, the party not a private event, but a familial one. Timothée had known all the faces in the room. It had made him feel safe and warm. 

Luca, seated in his favourite armchair, with a twinkle in his eye and sipping on an espresso, had told them.

The profits from the movie were going to help him buy the villa.

The shock of the happiness they all had felt at that had been immeasurable. The villa had felt like part of a distant memory, intangible in that Timothée would’ve never been able to see it again in its full glory. Timothée had considered the thought that they would go to see it on this visit to Crema. He had imagined saying his farewells with a touch to the walls of the bedrooms, the railings of balconies and staircases. He hadn’t imagined a see-you-later, a rendezvous among a hundred potential future visits.

He had felt queasy with happiness. He had looked at Armie, Armie already looking at him, a small smile on his face. The soft gaze in Armie’s eyes had made him pause, as always. And Timothée had to look away. The evening had passed with all of them reminiscing, planning. Future visits and future shoots. Everything was possible now.

Except not really.

Timothée took a deep breath and moved toward the office. The cold penetrated his thin jacket and he shuddered. He wrapped his arms around himself. 

Timothée thought that if he could package his life into a before, during and after Crema, he would be fine. A life before Luca. A life before Armie. Before moments of hesitancy and the deep meeting of souls. If he could remember that feeling, of not being known. Of being his own person.

Then Timothée could move on from Crema. He could be normal.

He could be friends with Armie. Best friends. And without ever having to reveal the depth of his feelings for Armie.

But if life kept bringing him back here, to the exact spot where he stood when he realised what was happening, how could he keep it hidden?

It had been raining, like so many other days that summer. Shooting had kept being delayed. Armie had been brooding. It had been around the time that he kept claiming in interviews to have shut down. Started distancing himself. Timothée’s heart had been breaking at what Armie was going through without really knowing how to fix it.

When Timothée had realised it was only Luca that could fix it, that maybe Armie was in love with Luca. That had been the moment.

Timothée had been walking around the villa, trying to find Armie. He had found him and Luca together. Nothing about the encounter breathed romance at first glance, except for the passion with which Armie directed his anger at Luca. The words harsh, and devastating. Armie’s hands flying across the space between them. Luca holding a script, gently raising it to Armie, asking him to look at something. The softness in Armie’s shoulder returning as his hand reached out and touched the script, and in turn Luca’s hand, lingering. Timothée had seen a love story play out before his eyes.

That moment had forced Timothée to look inwards, to understand what he, too, wanted from Armie. And he hadn’t been able to breathe. His heart had stopped beating. It had ruined everything.

He had stalked out into the rain, muttered a hasty apology to the nearest crew member, making up some excuse about feeling sick. He had left the set. And he had brought the new realisation of his feelings with him.

He was standing here now. In that same doorway. The memory much less vivid, the bookshelves gone, no furniture in the room. A carpet, forgotten, bundled together like it was about to be brought out. Timothée moved into the room, crouched down and started to pull out the carpet, airing it out. And as the carpet unrolled, there it was. The clear reminder of his memory. A couple of pages of script, highlighted, worn. And left behind.

He barked out a laugh. That hurt. Memory was a cruel thing.

Timothée had thought he could abandon his feelings in this physical place. Move on from Crema, sort his feelings away, and leave with only a strong, platonic love for Armie that never bordered on anything else. He thought that the strength of his denial could make it true.

How wrong he was to even consider such a thing.

He stood up, moved away from the carpet, looked out the window. He inhaled a deep breath of brisk, cold air. Closed his eyes tightly for a minute, then opened them. Barren trees were swaying lightly in the wind. And there. What looked like a toy car, but Timothée knew to be one of the tiny Fiats they had lived in two summers ago, slowly approaching the house from a distance. 

Timothée was snapped out of his reverie, brought of his old feelings and into his new. Armie and Elizabeth were coming, along with Luca and some of his neighbours. Caught in painful nostalgia, he had completely forgotten that he had promised to turn on the electricity.

Timothée debated meeting the others outside the door and letting someone else handle it. But he needed more time to himself. The old feelings were still bleeding into him, colouring his every impression of this place. He’d hide in the kitchen until they found him, hoping those extra moments would do it.

Who was he kidding? No amount of time knowing Armie was nearby could do it. 

He made his way to the kitchen.

Voices started to carry as he fiddled with the electricity. Why he had said he would do this, he couldn’t really recall. It seemed stupid now, but had probably felt exciting at the time. Exciting to be the first to step into the villa, to visit an old friend and whisper new secrets into the walls.

Turned out there was nothing new about the secrets he carried. Timothée imagined, for a moment, the brisk wind as a sort of brittle laughter moving through the villa. The house letting Timothée know that he was as transparent and predictable as always.

Timothée didn’t really want to think about what made him see the villa as a sentient creature.

“Dude, are you hiding?” Timothée jumped at the sound of Armie’s voice, too close and demanding. He must’ve rushed in to find Timothée. The thought made Timothée feel hot, then cold. Timothée could hear the laughter in Armie’s voice and he was nervous and afraid of exposing himself. Timothée turned his head just slightly, keeping Armie out of his direct line of sight, to acknowledge Armie, smiled, and turned back to the the circuit board. Just a couple of seconds more and he’d be ready to face Armie. To see Armie.

Too bad Armie could never give him a couple of seconds. 

Timothée heard him move, then a warm hand on his shoulder, burning. Armie’s head popped up on the other side of Timothée’s head. All Timothée wanted was to tuck his head into Armie’s neck and lean on him until he felt better. Except, it would probably have the exact opposite effect. He steeled himself instead, staying upright, making sure as little as possible of Armie’s body touched his own.

“For a self-proclaimed expert electrician, this seems to be going at a fucking glacial pace.” Armie said, his breath and touch all over Timothée. Timothée squashed a full-body shiver. He braced himself, attempting their usual easygoing banter. 

How does one attempt to be easygoing when nothing at all in the world seems easy?

“Asshole, I’m just-” Timothée snapped, clearly not easygoing. “I’m finding the right switch.”

“Well, if you need help,” Armie started. Timothée didn’t let him finish.

“No, I’m good, just - where did the others go? Bother them instead, will you?” Timothée couldn’t handle this, he clearly couldn’t handle Armie so close to him. He felt like he was on fire. He felt like he was made of ice. He was so close to the edge. His defences were down here, in this place he had learned what it meant to be completely open with another person.

Armie must have felt it. His hand left Timmy’s shoulder. He took a step back. Timothée’s body wanted to follow, but he reined it in.

“If you insist,” Armie drawled, moving away. Timothée let out a sigh, started to count to ten to calm his nerves. And then.

The electricity turned on, a noisy spark and what seemed like ten-thousand lights lit all at once. Timothée hadn’t realised how dark the villa had been, until he had to squint to adjust his eyes. Timothée turned around and found Armie at the opposite wall. His hand on a switch. The grin on his face maniacal. 

Of fucking course.

Timothée didn’t have time to hide his expression, Armie was a force of nature after all. He attempted to pinch his face into something resembling annoyance, trying not to reveal the pain he was actually feeling. 

Being in love was horrifying.

Armie noticed, Timothée’s sure he did. But he didn’t call Timothée on it, just smiled gently at him - the smile Timothée had been forced to meet all over this fucking European continent. Timothée hated being this well-known, this truly understood.

All he wanted was to head butt Armie and run away.

But Armie moved first, wiggling his fingers and shouting a _later_ at him with a toothy smile, the decibel much too loud to be meant for him, clearly meant to reveal his location to the others. Armie disappeared through the doorway.

Armie had picked up on Timothée not wanting to be around him, but clearly didn’t want him to be alone.

What a fucking diamond of a person.

 

—

 

Timothée couldn’t stop laughing.

In front of him, Elizabeth and Luca were engaged in a sort of pseudo-dance form. They held hands and twirled around the living room floor. The music was tinny but bombastic, played on Luca’s old Iphone, placed inside a ceramic vase for stereo effect. Italian ballads, too convoluted and the vocabulary to explicitly romantic for Timothée to follow, set the scene for the performance in front of him.

They looked ridiculous. It was amazing.

Timothée had another drink of wine, straight from one of the bottles the others had brought with them. Opened by magic, or some Italian trick, the cork lying in pieces on the floor next to him.

It was both a blessing and a curse to move so smoothly and easily been abject misery and joy. After his almost-breakdown in the kitchen, he had left to find the others before they found him. Armie had disappeared, clearly engaged in a game of ‘who’s-more-like-their-character-now?’. 

Timothée let him, it helped. 

Timothée carefully shielded that tiny bit of raw emotion, tried to pretend his love for Armie wasn’t all-encompassing, and went to find the others. Luca had arranged a sort of impromptu living room in the office, his neighbours helping him out. Elizabeth was kindling the fire and pillows had appeared from God-knows-where, covering the entire floor. A couple of bottles of wine had been opened and Timothée had started to relax. He had become more at ease with his situation. With the possibility of revisiting this place and not revisiting his feelings.

He had danced with Armie and only felt a small pang of pain. Luckily, the pain had been swept away by the joy of being around his favourite people. The ease with which he could present himself here made him question why he should waste his time on being sad, when the joy was so tangible, so strong.

Armie had attempted to moonwalk and almost fell over when his feet wouldn’t follow his body. Timothée doubled over laughing at this six-foot-five giant without coordination. Armie’s smile had been blinding, when Timothée had been able to look at him again. Timothée’s smile had mirrored it, his face hurting. They could be friends. The best of friends.

Elizabeth had tugged on Timothée’s hand after that and they’d started dancing something Timothée would’ve wanted to call salsa, but he wasn’t sure. Elizabeth leading, her hair whipping around both their faces, Timothée had felt such deep appreciation for their family, for Elizabeth. 

He wondered if it’d be weird if he thanked her for Armie. She spun him around the dance floor before he could really properly consider it.

And now he was sitting here, giggling at the scene on the dance floor. Giggling thanks to the wine, the company and the moment. He turned his head slightly and tried to catch Armie’s eye. Armie, stretched out next to him on a mountain of pillows. Still in that tracksuit. He had clearly been watching the show, but now his head turned, his focus shifting to Timothée. A smile formed on his face, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes becoming more pronounced. 

A history of laughter, there. 

Timothée wanted to reach out and trace the wrinkles, but thought he shouldn’t. He was still fragile. Instead, Timothée grabbed at a strand of his own hair, twirling it. Giving his nervous fingers something to do. Armie was still looking at him.

“You feel better now?” Armie said, his voice soft. Clearly, this was a conversation meant for their ears only. Timothée appreciated it.

“Yeah, sorry about before.” Timothée said. Armie just shook his head slightly.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Armie said, taking a deep breath. “You were clearly in your own head.”

Armie picked up his own wine bottle and drank deeply. Timothée waited for him to continue.

“I was considering Luca’s trick to get you to talk, you know, but I acknowledge that I don’t actually have the right to be privy to your every thought and emotion.” Armie continued, dropping his gaze. He looked embarrassed.

_Where are you right now?_ If Armie had said that, could Timothée have stopped himself from blurting out the truth? Oh, I’m only stuck in a memory where I realise I’m in love with you and I try my hardest to stay out of it but now I’m here and you’re here and I can’t stop myself.

Yeah, that would’ve been a shit show. Timothée decided to tell another truth.

“I guess it’s starting to hit me that our time is almost up,” Timothée said, sad in all kinds of new ways when thinking about the fact that this week wasn’t going to last. Hanging out with Armie twenty-four-seven was a luxury he could rarely indulge in. And their time was ending.

Armie was still looking down, not meeting Timothée’s eyes. But Timothée could see his face hardening, the expression changing from embarrassment to something less delicate. Timothée continued.

“And it doesn’t help that we don’t know when we'll get this kind of quality time again, right?” Timothée said. For a split second, Armie looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. His mouth set in an angry line, he looked up at Timothée.

“I know you mean that as a nostalgic reflection on this fucking amazing week, but you do realise that is up to us, right? We don’t have to rely on fate to plan this sort of thing.” Armie said. He was angry. Timothée had made him angry.

“Of course,” Timothée started, not really knowing what went wrong. “But with filming, your family, award season, most of the time we spend together will be scheduled, you know?” Timothée looked at Armie, willing him to understand.

“This has been great, but we’ll want a break from the madness after all of this is done and maybe that includes a break from each other too, you know? I don’t know your brain.” Timothée said. He wanted to make it sound like a joke, but clearly the reality of being apart was too painful. He just sounded wistful. Timothée thought he heard a noise of frustration come out of Armie’s mouth. His voice was sharp when he replied.

“Do you really think I could ever tire of you, Timmy? I fucking projected you into my childhood memories!” Armie blurted out. Then, as if he realising what he’d just said, his face went pink, clearly embarrassed that he let that comment slip. Timothée felt his face get hot, as well. 

That comment had made his mind whirl when he heard it the first time. He didn’t know what to think of Armie bringing it up now.

Instantly, the tension melted away, both of them too preoccupied to be angry. Armie was looking at the dance floor, nursing the bottle of wine, clearly hoping it would help him shut up. Timothée felt an odd sense of joy, the memory of Armie’s confession on French primetime television overpowering all other emotions. Armie had really said that.

If nothing else, Armie would always be his friend. Timothée could count on that.

Timothée reached out his hand and touched the wrinkles at the corner of Armie’s eye. He let his thumb trace the lines as he tried to count them, finding small joys in the impossible task. He carefully brought his free hand to the other side of Armie’s face, as Armie turned towards him, mirroring the movement, there. Armie closed his eyes and let out a sigh. His shoulders dropped and his body relaxed.

All of a sudden, Armie reminded him of a big cat. A ferocious creature undone by a small kindness. Timothée laughed at the thought, the wine killing all his inhibitions. Armie’s eyes opened, focusing on Timothée. Armie frowned.

‘What?’ Armie mouthed, but Timothée only shook his head. He let his hand drop.

“Nothing,” Timothée replied. They’d be fine.

 

—

 

Eventually, it was time to leave for Crema. It was getting dark and cold, the villa not hospitable enough to consider staying in right now, even just for a night. Luca went around the house, carefully - reverently - turning off all the lights, like he couldn’t believe the house was really his. Elizabeth, having decided to stay sober, was obviously the choice for driving them back to Luca’s apartment. She was rounding up empty bottles of wine, stashing unopened bottles (surprisingly few) in the pantry, a considerate houseguest wanting to lessen the burden for the host.

Everyone else was wasted.

Timothée could hear Luca’s neighbours singing, an Italian drinking song that they’d tried to teach him earlier. This rendition was the poorest one by far. Timothée would hazard a guess that the whole tune was completely off pitch. He applauded their effort silently and walked out of the villa to get away from the noise.

Where was Armie?

Timothée looked around the driveway, but there was no sight of him. But. He heard a whisper of a sound from the garden. He walked towards it, turned a corner, and there was Armie. Hidden, but not really, behind some bushes. Hunched over on a picnic chair, his body looked small from a distance. He was talking to someone on the phone, the screen lighting up his face.

The nonsense of the conversation drifted towards Timothée. Harper, then. Or Ford. Or maybe even both. Timothée smiled and moved closer.

“We’ll be home soon, guys,” Armie said. “Just a couple of more days and then everything will be back to normal.” Timothée was close enough now to hear the noises on the other end, but couldn’t make out what was being said. He usually needed the kids to be present to be an expert in kid-speak.

“No, Uncle Timmy can’t come this time,” Armie said. Timothée smiled. They were asking about him. “He sends his love, though, I’m sure he’d be there if he could.” Armie’s expression was hard to read in the twilight, looking washed out by the light of his phone. The line of his mouth was tight.

Missing his kids seemed to be getting to him.

More nonsense made its way out of the phone, and then Armie said a quick goodbye and hung up. He tilted the phone on his chin, left it there for a moment. Deep in thought. 

After a beat, Armie pocketed his phone, dropping his elbows onto his knees. He stared out into the darkness. Then his head dropped, caught between his hands. He looked even smaller now, something sad in the clench of his shoulder. Timothée’s whole body responded.

Was he crying?

Timothée moved towards Armie, lovesick, unable to handle seeing him in pain.

When Timothée was just a few steps away, Armie looked up. Directly at Timothée. Timothée froze on the spot.

The look in Armie’s eyes made it impossible to breathe.

Armie looked devastated. The pain on Armie’s face looked bone-deep, and that expression reached into Timothée’s heart to grab hold. Unable to break Armie’s gaze, Timothée took the final steps to close the space between them.

Armie reached out a hand, seemingly without conscious thought and Timothée was helpless in the face of the silent request. He was in front of Armie in an instant, gently reaching his arms around Armie’s shoulders, holding him tight, bracketing him. Armie’s wet breath hit Timothée through his jacket and his arms came around Timothée’s middle. Timothée could do nothing but breathe, letting one hand cup the back of Armie’s head.

What was going on?

After a moment, Timothée leaned forward slightly, dropping his chin on top of Armie’s head. Armie let out a deep sigh, crowded closer. Timothée could feel Armie’s breath tickling his stomach.

Timothée wanted to ask what was wrong, but he couldn’t find the words. Something about this moment and the silence seemed so delicate. Like the wrong word at the wrong moment could break Armie.

Timothée stayed quiet and let his breath even out, encouraging Armie to do the same.

After a couple of minutes, the silence around them was broken by the revelry of the house guests, Luca’s voice clearly the voice of reason in the madness. They were heading towards the cars. 

Timothée shivered. They’d been out here a while, the cold was getting to him.

Armie’s head shot up suddenly, at Timothée’s shivers or the voices, Timothée didn’t know. But Timothée’s chin was still resting on Armie’s head and he found himself the victim of an unintentional head butt. He gasped in pain and reared his head. Armie, clearly out of it, felt the struggle of Timothée’s body and released his hold, causing Timothée to fall backwards and hit his ass, hard, on the cold ground.

Ow.

Timothée was too stunned at first to recognise the wheezing noise coming from Armie’s direction. Then he knew what it was, the familiar sounds breaking him out of his reverie.

That son of a bitch was laughing.

Timothée looked up at Armie, in his chair, doubled over, clearly unable to contain himself. Finally, Armie looked up and Timothée swept one hand in front of him as if to communicate ‘you-cause-me-pain-and-this-is-how-you-react?’. 

Armie was clearly having the time of his life.

“Your face-,” was all Armie managed before doubling down again. Timothée couldn’t complain about Armie’s mood brightening, the relief spread into Timothée’s toes and fingers and all through his body. Armie’s bedside manner was somewhat lacking, though.

“Remind me never to get seriously hurt in front of you,” Timothée said, sullenly.

“You clearly thrive on the pain of others.” He continued, but couldn’t keep a small smile from forming on his face. Armie looked up again, letting his laughter turn into a bright smile. Timothée could breathe again.

Armie got up from his chair and reached out a hand for Timothée. Wincing a little - mostly for show - Timothée pulled himself up, steadying himself on Armie to regain his balance. 

They ended up standing very close, Timothée’s hand resting lightly on Armie’s shoulder. Timothée’s heart - traitor - started beating a little faster.

Damnit. He’d been doing so well.

Armie brought his hand up and touched Timothée’s chin gently, tilting it upward to get a better look. His eyes kept moving up to meet Timothée’s own, and then down to his chin, inspecting for damage.

Timothée’s breath started coming a little short. He had to find an out. Soon enough, all of his feelings would be clear as day on his face and there’d be no turning back.

“Thanks for ruining my face,” Timothée said, aiming for haughty. Due to his body not being on his side, though, it came out breathy.

“You’ll be fine,” Armie said. His voice soft. Their eyes met and Timothée thought he could see something forming in Armie’s eyes. Like a decision being made.

Armie leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the injured spot on Timothée’s chin.

Timothée stopped breathing.

Armie leaned back to look at Timothée, almost like he was checking in, making sure Timothée was okay. Then, he moved in again and pressed a flutter of kisses along Timothée’s jawline, cheek, temple. He paused there, leaving Timothée’s face pressed up against Armie’s pulse.

Timothée didn’t know what to do. The silence was heavy and Timothée didn’t want to say the wrong thing, didn’t want to spook Armie when he was vulnerable.

“I love you,” Armie said, barely more than an exhale, his voice pained. Like he was admitting a terrible secret. 

Timothée stayed absolutely still. This wasn’t happening. He was dreaming.

“I thought we’d be fine, that I could live with it, without it affecting our relationship. But after this week,” Armie started, then stopped. He moved back, allowing Timothée to see his face, but not meeting his eyes. He looked lost.

“I get that this whole thing doesn’t make sense to you. I’m married, I’m ten years older than you. I should know better. I shouldn’t indulge myself in this. In you. But I did. And now I don’t know how to stop.” Armie seemed resigned, his whole body communicating sorrow, fear, vulnerability. 

This is someone I know, Timothée thought. This person is beautiful. The reality of what Armie was saying sent shockwaves through Timothée. Adrenaline thrumming, Timothée wanted to scream, shout, flail, but he didn’t. He kept himself very still. Armie wasn’t finished.

“And that’s gonna be a big, stupid, ass-backwards problem, because soon enough I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing you.” Armie said, finally looking at Timothée. Like he couldn’t help himself, like this was the perfect moment for their eyes to meet. Armie looked devastated. And now Timothée understood.

Timothée felt a warmth spread through his body. This was real. This wasn’t pretend. He moved his hand as if in a trance, reached out to touch Armie’s wrist. And then pinched him. Hard.

Armie yelped and took a step back, his face open and vulnerable. Timothée couldn’t suppress a giggle, disbelief making him giddy.

“What the fuck was that for?” Armie barked, his brow furrowing and his hand reaching to touch his reddening wrist. Timothée’s smile widened.

“Just making sure neither of us is dreaming,” Timothée said, letting all the feelings he’d been hiding colour his voice. Armie’s eyes shot to his, his jaw dropping. Understanding forming in his eyes.

Timothée reached for Armie’s wrist, pulled it up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there, letting his eyes drop for a minute. He needed a moment to collect himself. He let their hands fall, tangled together, and stepped closer, met Armie’s eyes again. Timothée leaned towards Armie, tilting his face up. Almost on his tip-toes.

Timothée let his eyes convey the depth of his feelings for Armie, knowing Armie would get it. Timothée wasn’t hiding anymore. An incredulous smile spread slowly across Armie’s face. Timothée was sure they both looked just as dumbstruck. Two idiots in love.

Armie let his free hand travel up to Timothée’s neck, resting there. Timothée felt his touch everywhere. Armie leaned forward, gently letting their foreheads touch. Timothée had to close his eyes or his heart would burst.

For a split second he was sure he would faint and accidentally knock Armie out in the process.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Armie closed the distance between them and finally pressed his lips to Timothée’s.

 

—

 

Armie and Timothée were sitting together in the backseat of the tiny Fiat, the car bumping over small dirt roads. Elizabeth had ordered them to squeeze in the back, leaving the good seat in front for Luca. Timothée saw the ruse for what it was, though. Elizabeth was giving them a moment to settle, hid from view. Timothée’s hand couldn’t stop reaching for Armie’s, their fingers linking, unlinking. Pinkie swears and two thumbs-up.

Earlier, Elizabeth had scolded them for being so oblivious.

Elizabeth had found them before they really could indulge in their newfound interest in making out. She had appeared out of nowhere, bringing Timothée back into a reality where he was, in fact, _making out with a married man_. He had stepped away from Armie, turned towards her, ready to prostrate himself, to take full responsibility for what had happened. He would exit their lives and never bother them again.

But.

Before he had been able to do any of that, Elizabeth had walked up to him, touched his cheek with her warm hand, leaned forward and whispered a soft ‘Finally, idiots’, in his ear. She had kissed him on the cheek and then turned to her husband.

Timothée had been without words.

Elizabeth had apparently seen this coming all along, Armie had told Timothée after, walking back to the car. Elizabeth had tried to coach Armie into telling Timothée, but he had balked every time. 

Armie had blushed at his confession and Timothée had wanted to kiss him so badly. He settled for letting their fingers link as they walked.

Now, as the car rumbled on, Timothée finally felt the exhaustion of the day hit him. As if by command, Armie used their hands to tug Timothée closer, arranging them in the tiny backseat, Timothée’s head on his lap. As Timothée wiggled around to get comfortable, Armie’s hand stretched out over his heart.

Road safety not guaranteed.

Timothée didn’t care. He’d die happy in this car. As Timothée started to doze off, Armie bent his impossibly huge upper body over him, like a safety net. His mouth ended up close to Timothée’s ear.

“I love you,” Armie whispered, clearly not ready to stop sharing this sentiment with Timothée quite yet. Timothée smiled, his body shivered. He never wanted Armie to stop saying it.

“I love you too, asshole,” Timothée whispered back, fondly. 

The huff of Armie’s laughter was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate and love how much this pairing and fandom has taken over my life. If you want to leave a comment on tumblr, click through [here](http://ohwilde.tumblr.com/post/170241752108/love-come-find-us).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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